Falling in Love with my cocky Boss

Sarah's POV

My head was pounding.

Not just a dull throb, but the kind of full-blown, merciless hammering that made it feel like a marching band had taken up residence inside my skull. Each pulse of pain behind my eyes came with a nauseating wave of regret, and when the morning sunlight sliced through my window like a blade, I hissed and rolled over, pulling the blanket over my face.

But the discomfort wasn't just from the hangover.

Something else twisted in my stomach an unease I couldn't place at first.

Until it hit me.

The club. The music. The shots.

And him.

"Oh my God." I sat bolt upright, then immediately regretted it as the room spun like a carousel. My heels were kicked off near the door, my clutch lay halfway open on the floor, and I was still in last night's dress. A tight, low-cut thing I barely remembered slipping into.

I closed my eyes, and like a cruel movie reel, the night before flickered in pieces behind my eyelids.

Laughing with Mia over tequila shots.

Dancing to a pulsing beat with zero shame.

Then... him.

The stranger in the corner booth.

He wasn't like anyone else in that club. While the others laughed too loudly and stumbled across the dance floor, he sat alone, perfectly composed. A dark suit hugged his broad shoulders, and he had this intense, magnetic energy dangerous, almost feral. His eyes found mine across the room like a spotlight, freezing me in place. I hadn't meant to walk toward him. I hadn't meant to touch him.

But then I was on his lap.

Kissing him like my life depended on it.

A hot, desperate, reckless tangle of lips and hands in the shadowy corner of a bar. I didn't ask his name. I didn't give mine. There were no words just the taste of bourbon on his tongue and the smell of expensive cologne that still clung to my dress like a ghost.

I let out a groan and dropped my head into my hands. "What the hell was I thinking?"

There was no excuse. I wasn't that girl. I didn't make out with strangers in clubs. I didn't throw myself at mysterious men in tailored suits like some overly confident rom-com heroine.

Except... apparently, I did.

I flopped backward onto my bed and stared at the ceiling, willing it to swallow me whole. Maybe if I stayed perfectly still, I could pretend it never happened. Pretend that some other poor soul had drunkenly dry-humped a stranger in a nightclub and left without even exchanging names.

But just as I was starting to spiral into self-loathing, my phone buzzed violently on the nightstand.

I glanced at the screen.

Mia.

Of course.

I swiped to answer, not bothering to hide my irritation. "You left me last night."

"Well, good morning to you too," she replied, chipper as ever. "How's the head?"

"Feels like I got hit by a truck. But that's not the point. You left me alone in that club while I was wasted, Mia! I ended up doing God knows what with some stranger."

"Oh, I know what you did," she said with a laugh that made me want to strangle her. "You practically gave the poor guy a lap dance. It was honestly kind of hot."

"Mia!" I squeaked. "You are nothing but a backstabber."

"What? He was hot. You were hot. The chemistry was off the charts. I just figured you needed to let loose for once. It's been, what? Eight months since Jacob?"

I winced at the mention of my ex. "Nine," I muttered. "But that's not the point. I don't do things like that."

"You were drunk. And honestly? You looked happy. That's all that matters."

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Please tell me that's all you called to say. Because I am this close to climbing under my bed and dying there."

"Nope. I called for something much more important," she said, practically bouncing through the phone. "Check your email."

I frowned. "Why?"

"Because you got the job," she announced proudly. "The one at Thorne Enterprises."

My heart skipped a beat. "Wait what?"

"The résumé I submitted for you two weeks ago? They emailed an offer letter this morning. You start today!"

Panic surged in my chest. "Mia! Are you serious? Thorne Enterprises? That huge investment company in Manhattan?"

"Yup. That one. And they want you there by nine a.m."

I looked at the clock. 8:22.

"MIA!"

"You've got thirty minutes. Get up, get dressed, and don't mess this up!"

She hung up before I could scream.

With adrenaline shooting through my veins, I launched myself out of bed. There was no time to shower, no time to wallow in shame or relive last night's sins. I threw my hair into a bun, dabbed on concealer to hide the bags under my eyes, and yanked my most professional-looking outfit out of the closet a fitted blazer and pencil skirt combo I wore to my last interview.

I chugged water, crammed a protein bar into my mouth, and dashed out the door.

As the cab sped toward Midtown, I tried to pull myself together. This was a dream job. Thorne Enterprises was known for being cutthroat, prestigious, and impossible to get into. I didn't have the luxury of embarrassment right now not when my future was at stake.

The sleek, glass high-rise towered above the city like it owned the skyline. I had to crane my neck just to see the top. Swallowing hard, I stepped through the revolving doors and approached the front desk.

"Hi, I'm here to start today? Um... new hire," I mumbled.

The receptionist smiled brightly. "Welcome! You're expected. The CEO wants to meet you personally. Top floor."

My stomach dropped. "The CEO?"

She nodded. "Mr. Russo likes to greet new hires himself. He's... very hands-on."

That sounded ominous.

"Thank you," I said, stepping into the elevator with trembling hands.

The ride up felt like ascending to my execution. My brain screamed at me to relax, but my nerves weren't listening. Why would the CEO of a billion-dollar company want to greet a junior assistant personally? It made no sense. But I didn't have the luxury of second-guessing it.

The doors opened with a soft chime, revealing a pristine hallway filled with modern art and quiet tension.

"Right this way," a secretary said, gesturing toward a pair of heavy black doors. "He's waiting for you."

I took a breath.

Then pushed them open.

And froze.

Behind the massive desk at the end of the room, dressed in a perfectly tailored navy suit, with the same sharp jawline and piercing dark eyes that had burned into my memory all night.

Was him.

The stranger from the bar.

The man whose lips I had kissed like I owned them.

Matteo. Bloody. Russo.

I stopped breathing.

He looked up from the file in his hands, his expression unreadable cool, detached, corporate.

"Miss Hart, I presume?"

I froze.

He didn't smile. Didn't blink. Didn't give the slightest hint that he recognized me from the night before. No flare of amusement in those stormy eyes. No smug smirk. Just ice.

I opened my mouth, then closed it. My voice caught in my throat. "I... yes."

He shut the file with a soft thud and set it aside like it bored him. Then he stood, tall and intimidating in his tailored navy suit, and came around the desk with that same panther-like grace I'd memorized the night before.

"You're late," he said curtly, glancing at his Rolex. "By seven minutes."

I blinked. "I what?"

"You'll find I value punctuality, Miss Hart. Especially in an assistant."

"Assistant?" I repeated, my brain still short-circuiting.

"That's correct. Didn't you read the job offer? Or did you skim through it like you skim through basic self-control at a bar?"

My mouth fell open.

Did he just?

No. No way. That had to be a jab. A subtle, cutting one. He remembered me. He just wanted to watch me squirm.

I clenched my jaw. "Yes. Of course, Mr. Russo. Assistant. Got it."

He walked past me, the scent of him woody and expensive brushing against my senses. He didn't even look back.

"Come on," he barked. "I don't have all day."

I followed him into the sleek conference room, where a leather chair and a notepad waited for me. I sat down as he tossed a thick stack of files in front of me.

"You'll review, sort, and summarize these by noon."

I stared at the stack. "All of them?"

He tilted his head, feigning concern. "Is that going to be a problem?"

"No, sir," I said through clenched teeth.

He smirked. "Good. Because I don't tolerate incompetence. Or excuses. Or whining."

Asshole.

I smiled tightly and picked up the first file. Matteo sat at the head of the table, tapping away on his laptop like I didn't exist. Occasionally, he'd bark out an order:

"Coffee. Black. Two sugars. No soy crap."

"Print this. Double-sided. Staple it right."

"Stop sighing like a teenager and work faster."

I wanted to throw the files at his head.

Instead, I muttered under my breath, "Jerk."

"What was that?" he said without looking up.

"I said I'm working on it, sir."

He smirked again.

Ten minutes later, he tossed a stapler across the table. "Fix page three. It's crooked. My five-year-old nephew could staple better."

I didn't even blink. "Well, maybe you should hire him then," I whispered.

"Hmm?" he asked, arching a brow.

"Nothing, Mr. Russo."

Cocky bastard.

He was enjoying this. I could feel it. He was toying with me testing me. Seeing how far he could push before I snapped.

"I don't like perfume," he added casually, wrinkling his nose. "Whatever you're wearing is giving me a headache."

I bit down on a groan. "Duly noted."

"You might also consider a more professional skirt next time."

I glanced down at my pencil skirt. It wasn't even tight.

"I'll be sure to dress in a garbage bag tomorrow," I muttered.

His head snapped up. "Excuse me?"

"I said I'll be sure to dress by the handbook tomorrow," I lied sweetly.

He stared at me. For one terrifying second, I thought he might fire me right there. But instead, he just gave a quiet, cruel chuckle and leaned back in his chair.

"Welcome to hell, Miss Hart."

Oh, I was already there.

By lunch, I'd reorganized forty-seven files, run down to the café twice, retyped a client proposal because he didn't like the font, and listened to him complain about the temperature in the office like he was Goldilocks trying to find the perfect porridge.

"I'm not your damn secretary," I hissed under my breath as I poured his second cup of coffee.

He took it without a word. Sipped.

Then looked me dead in the eyes.

"Next time, try not to burn it."

IT WAS COFFEE.

I wanted to pull my hair out as I tried to calm myself by breathing in and out. "Sir, I have documents to work on and have wasted most of my time today doing nothing."

He cut me off. "And whose fault is that?" His eyes met mine, and I gulped, saying nothing as I reached for the tray. He added, "And when you're done, analyze and edit these documents." He dropped some files on the table. As his hands moved, my hands slipped, and the coffee cup fell, spilling on his suit. The coffee was now a searing stain on his expensive suit.

"Shit!" I exclaimed, rushing to get a towel from the far end of the office. Falling to my knees in front of him, I attempted to wipe off the stain from his suit.

In my haste and embarrassment, I didn't think the situation could get any worse until I realized I was furiously rubbing the towel against his groin.

I averted my gaze, feeling a heated blush spread from my face down my neck as I caught a glimpse of the noticeable bulge in front of his pants.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, sir."

This man was Satan.

Hot, smug, maddening Satan in Armani.

Every little command, every smug glance, was his twisted way of punishing me for last night. He remembered. I knew he did. But instead of calling me out, he was using it like a weapon. Pretending he didn't know me gave him all the power and me? I had nothing but a headache, a stapler-related finger cramp, and a growing list of names I wanted to call him.

"Arrogant douchecanoe," I muttered as I passed him a revised report.

His lips twitched. "Something amusing, Miss Hart?"

"Not at all. I live to serve."

"Good," he said with a smirk. "Because this is only day one."

Oh, I was going to kill him.

Slowly.

With a paperclip.

"Another shot," I barked at the bartender.

"Sarah," Mia warned, eyeing me from across the small, round table. "That's your fourth."

"And I hope the fifth kills the part of my brain that still remembers this godforsaken day," I muttered, grabbing the lime wedge and tossing back the tequila like it was water. My throat burned, my eyes watered, and I slapped the counter. "God, that's disgusting. Give me another."

Mia sighed, sliding into the booth beside me. "You're going to be hugging a toilet by midnight."

"Good. Maybe I can flush myself down it and escape this cursed dimension."

The bartender raised a brow but poured another round anyway.

Mia took a slow sip of her cocktail and finally asked, "Okay. Spill. What the hell happened?"

I turned toward her, hands trembling, eyes wild, and hissed, "You remember that man I kissed at the club?"

Mia blinked. "The hot stranger? Matteo the Lap God? Obviously."

"Yeah. Him." I leaned in dramatically. "He's my boss."

Her drink nearly flew out of her mouth. "What?"

"You heard me."

"You're kidding."

"I'm dead serious." I pounded my next shot and winced. "His name is Matteo Russo. He owns the company. As the CEO of Thorne Enterprises."

Mia froze. "Oh. My. God."

"Yeah. Imagine walking into your dream job, hoping to forget a drunken mistake, only to find that exact mistake sitting behind a mahogany desk in a five-thousand-dollar suit."

"Oh my God," she said again, this time whispering it like a prayer.

"And he pretended he didn't even remember me! The audacity! Just looked me up and down with those smug eyes and said, 'Miss Hart, I presume?' like he didn't have his hands all over me forty-eight hours ago."

Mia clapped a hand over her mouth, but a laugh burst through anyway. "Shut up. He didn't."

"He did! And then get this he assigns me as his assistant. His assistant, Mia. He made me fetch his coffee, staple his files, and redo proposals because the font wasn't right. Said my skirt was inappropriate and my perfume was 'offensive.' Then he stapled me to my desk with sarcasm and thinly veiled insults for eight straight hours."

Mia was wheezing with laughter now, which only made my blood boil hotter.

"This is your fault," I snapped, pointing an accusatory finger at her face.

"Excuse me?"

"You left me alone that night! You watched me straddle a stranger like some barroom stripper and said nothing! You encouraged it!"

"I didn't encourage it!"

"You did! You said, and I quote, 'He was hot. You were hot. The chemistry was off the charts.'"

"Well, it was!"

"That's not the point!"

Mia giggled again. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry! But come on, Sarah. You had fun. Admit it."

"I made out with my boss in public," I hissed. "My boss. In. A. Club. I tongue-mugged a billionaire. Do you know how mortifying that is?"

"You didn't know he was your boss then," she offered helpfully.

"Yeah, but he knew who he was. He knew he was the damn CEO when he let me grind on him like a deranged maniac. He could've stopped me. He didn't."

Mia blinked, then gave a sly smile. "You think he was into it?"

"Oh, he was definitely into it," I muttered. "But that's not the point. He's using it against me now. It's like some kind of sick game to him. He pretends nothing happened, but then he says little things that make me want to stab him with a letter opener."

"Like what?"

I sat up straighter, grabbing another shot and downing it with flair. "He looked at me this morning and said, 'Let's keep it professional.' With this little smirk, like we both knew there's nothing professional about what happened."

"Oh my God," Mia laughed. "He's messing with you."

"I know he is!"

Mia leaned forward, grinning like the gossip goblin she was. "Okay but... be honest. Do you still think he's hot?"

I stared at her. "I hate you."

"You didn't say no."

"Because saying no would be a lie." I groaned and slammed my head on the table. "Of course, I still think he's hot. That's the worst part. He's insufferable, condescending, emotionally constipated but somehow that just makes him hotter."

Mia cackled. "You're doomed."

"I am doomed," I agreed, muffled by the table surface. "I'm going to lose this job. Or snap and end up in jail. Or worse fall for him like some tragic office romance cliché."

Mia nudged me with her elbow. "Okay, but, silver lining? At least your life's not boring anymore."

I glared at her. "I hope your next date spills ketchup on your white dress."

"That's just mean."

"You're mean. You threw me to the wolves."

"They weren't wolves," she said, picking up her glass. "They were tall, dark, and probably loaded."

"Loaded with emotional issues," I snapped.

Mia grinned. "Perfect match for you, then."

I groaned and leaned back in my seat, letting the tequila settle in my veins like lava. Outside, the city lights blurred into warm golds and reds, and the buzz of the bar around us became a comforting hum. It wasn't enough to erase the memory of Matteo's smirk, but at least it dulled the sting.

"I seriously thought I could fake my way through this job," I said after a moment. "Keep my head down, work hard, rebuild my life after the whole Jacob mess. But of course, I had to ruin it before it even started."

"Hey." Mia's voice softened. "You didn't ruin anything. One bad day doesn't define your whole future. You're smart. You're stubborn. And you're terrifying when you're angry. You'll survive this."

I snorted. "Terrifying, huh?"

"You should've seen your face when you said 'smug bastard' under your breath. I'm surprised Matteo didn't flinch."

"Oh, he heard me. He just enjoyed it."

Mia laughed. "Well, you know what they say if you can't quit, torment him until he does."

I raised my glass. "Cheers to that."

We clinked our drinks and tossed back the last round. The tequila burned less this time, or maybe I was just numb. Either way, it felt good. Cathartic.

I slumped back into the booth with a sigh. "If I make it through this week without throwing coffee in his face, I deserve a medal."

"You deserve a raise."

"I deserve a restraining order from HR."

Mia giggled again. "Honestly, I kind of ship it."

I shot her a look. "Mia."

"I'm just saying! It's got all the makings of a forbidden office romance. Hot boss, accidental hookup, emotional repression, power imbalance chef's kiss."

"I swear to God," I muttered, grabbing my purse. "If I ever marry that man, you're banned from the wedding."

"Deal. But only if I get to be the maid of honor at the engagement announcement."

"You're the worst friend I've ever had."

"Maybe," she said smugly, "but I got you a job. And a hot boss."

"Both of which are currently ruining my life."

"You're welcome."